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Hetero Male Submissive, 53,  Sydney, Australia
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The simple act of kissing a womans feet, from a position kneeling on the floor while she sits or stands, is surprisingly erotic. Being commanded to remove her high heels is the next step which sends tingles down the spine.

Do you, dog, undertake to behave in ways befitting a dog, giving loyalty, obedience and your tongue, to your Mistress? woof

Do you agree to be used as a pony, a dog, a sub, a slave, a maid, a butler, a masseuse and other roles as agreed upon with your Mistress? Just nod your head!

Do you Mistress .........., take this dog to be your slave? To abuse and to torture as you see fit, to collar and to lead on a leash, to humiliate and to harness as a horse, to kiss your feet and use his tongue in ways directed? .... You may now kick the dog. Dog! You may now kiss your Mistress feet. I now pronounce you, Mistress and slave.

My Ideal

Ideally I would like a long term relationship with a dominant woman where we can grow and learn and explore various aspects of a Ds relationship. Given that ideal situations are hard to come by, I would also be happy to explore short term or other possibilities.

The Slaves Creed

Our Lady who art high above us

Mistress be thy name

Thy Queendom reign forever

Thy will be obeyed or a rod upon our back

Give us this day your golden water to drink

And forgive us not any mistakes

Lead us by the collar and leash

And do not spare us any punishment

Any researcher, journalist, or institution that wishes to use the verbal, but not the picture, contents of my profile for educational purposes is not merely welcomed but encouraged to do so (as long as youre not a prick trying to denigrate my lifestyle choices). Please! Research me!













 Submissive Male



 Willing to Relocate

 5' 5"

 73 lbs






Actively Seeking:

Dominant Female

Switch Women

 Lives For:

 Being allowed to service you orally (Beginner)


 Being allowed to see you in stockings (Beginner)


 Coffee Shops



 Being blindfolded (Expert)

 You tying me up (Expert)

 Being allowed to wear your collar

 Being allowed to worship your feet

 Pony/Puppy Roleplay (Beginner)







 Bird Watching

 Fine Dining

 Flea Markets


 Being allowed to worship your body (Beginner)

 Being placed in a cage by you (Beginner)

 Being crossdressed by you (Beginner)

 Rear End Play (Beginner)

 Being gagged by you (Beginner)

 Hair Pulling (Beginner)

 Being humiliated by you

 You putting me on a leash (Beginner)

 You wearing masks

 Being allowed to give you massages

 You deciding when I'm allowed sexual pleasure (Beginner)

 Public Play

 Role Playing (Beginner)

 Sensory Play


 Alternative Music

 Classical Music

 Folk Music


 Rock Music

 Seventies Music



 Canes and Crops

 Eye Contact Restrictions

 Gas Masks (Beginner)

 Plastic Wrap Bondage (Beginner)

 Wax Play (Beginner)

 Curious About:


 Electrical Play


 Local BDSM Community


 Sensation Play

 Maid / Butler Service

 Outdoor Bondage

 Suspension Bondage

 Theatrical Scenes

 Vacuum Stimulation

 Female Sovereignty

 Lifestyle BDSM


 Bar Hopping


 Begging (Beginner)

 Corner Time


 Spanking (Beginner)

 Country Music

 Heavy Metal Music





 Rubber Fetish

 Hip Hop Music

 Hard Limits:


 Erotic touch



 Whips (Beginner)

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Journal Entries:
12/11/2017 7:19:28 PM
Humiliation at the Mall

"You can walk away now if you wish, or we can do right now in the mall," she said. "What do you decide?" I thought for a long few seconds, "Take a taxi and go home back to Kuningan for a relaxing afternoon in my area, or take the plunge and see what would happen walking around with Miss Ivy in Mall Kelapa Gading in Jakarta." I chose to stay.

It was early on a Sunday morning when I left my kost (boarding house), early for Indonesian shoppers that is, about 9am. Traffic was still relatively clear and I got out at Mal Kelapa Gading, quite far from where I was staying. I entered the mall. There were very few people at that early hour, and after messaging Miss Ivy that I had arrived, walked around a little until she arrived at the meeting place next to a cafe. We went and sat down, had coffee and chatted. I was comfortable. Nothing had been decided and I knew there was no obligation on me to go ahead with anything, and she the same. This was just a first meeting. We talked about our various interests, how we came to be interested in bdsm, and our experiences thus far. One of the interests I mentioned was cross-dressing.

"We go here," Miss Ivy said, walking into a small lingerie shop filled with panties and bras, and just one sales assistant. I hoped she would quickly pick one or two items for me, and then we could leave for my kost in Kuningan to dress me up. As Miss Ivy picked through the bras, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable, wanting the purchase to be over with quickly. Miss Ivy, however, had other ideas, and rummaged through the bras, picking each one up, and then called me over. Now I was getting embarrassed. I hoped to stay in the background while she chose what she wanted, but asking my opinion was making it all rather open. I glanced at the sales assistant, who was wearing a headscarf, and wondered what a conservative Muslim girl would be thinking of this, but she seemed to be expressionless and not paying any special attention, as if this were quite normal. A man walked past the shop outside. I felt so relieved that we were here early when almost no customers were yet in the mall.

Miss Ivy pushed the bra against my chest and my embarrassment increased tenfold; it was patently obvious to the sales lady this purchase was for me. "No, let's try another," Miss Ivy said. More bras were held against my chest as Miss Ivy stood back and contemplated the style and colour. If it were red it would have been the colour of my face. Eventually she decided on a padded brown lacy bra. I swiftly agreed, desperately anxious to buy it and get out as quickly as possible.

"You try on!" she said, motioning for me to go behind the curtained fitting room booth. I couldn't believe it. Was it allowed? I began to put it on over my shirt when Miss Ivy instructed me to take off my shirt. The only reason I complied was that Miss Ivy seemed so deadly serious, no laughter nothing, and was an obviously naturally dominant woman. I removed my T-shirt and fumbled with the straps on the bra. It was tight fitting around my man's rib cage but clipped shut. "Come out," Miss Ivy instructed. I had given up control, my feverish humiliation overcome by Miss Ivy's power. I stepped forward to the edge of the booth, standing half in and half out, seeing the sales lady standing near the shop entrance, still just a calm expression on her face. Miss Ivy seemed to sense I was at the limit of my humiliation threshold and did not insist I come right out.

My relief when walking out, the purchase having been made, was crushed when Miss ivy then walked to a large open air lingerie section to look for panties. This was twenty times worse, ten or fifteen shop assistants, all dressed up in uniform. I stood helplessly at the corner of one large section of underwear, lacy, frilly, plain, black, red, white, ... wanting to drop through the floor while Miss Ivy picked up one panty after another, and asked the assistants for help. I cringed at the thought of Miss Ivy calling me over and putting the panty up against my crotch to see for fit, and wondered if I would have to try it on as well. Without looking them in the eye, I was gratified to see that the assistants were not laughing or looking at me. I hoped they would assume the panties were for Miss Ivy.

"Yes, bitch! They were all laughing at you behind your back. You didn't see, that's all! They knew it was for you," Miss Ivy later told me. We were much longer in this shop, and the embarrassment was huge. Finally, she decided on a pair of black panties and gave them to me to pay for at the counter, completing my embarrassment even further.

11/7/2015 10:36:46 PM


Mark could see nothing as the blindfold went over his eyes. He already could not speak, because Aki had gagged him with a pair of her panties in his mouth, tying them in with a stocking so he could not spit them out. He tried to move his arms and legs, but even that was difficult. His body was lying on the strong wooden table in the middle of his lounge, his legs and arms hanging off the sides, and themselves tied to wooden poles that went under and through the middle section of the table. Aki touched her fingers over his body down to his cock. Although he wriggled a little at the tickling, he realized he was very effectively and helplessly tied. His cock began to rise at the realization of his complete helplessness, but that meant it just pressed against the tight embrace of the panties and pantyhose he had on, and grew even harder as a result. 

His head was towards his bedroom, his open legs facing the table and computer, meaning she could switch the cam on any time to allow others to view his embarrassment. Waiting, lying there, he wondered what was going to happen. At this point, feeling as helpless as he was, he began to wonder if he would ever escape this nightmare that had taken over his life. He had always fantasized about the idea of being blackmailed by a beautiful dominant Mistress, but reality and fantasy, he was realizing, were very, very different. He thought back to his very first experience of BDSM with a professional dominatrix, where he had said he was there to explore the difference between fantasy and reality, and she had said that was a dangerous thing.

Teaching English at a Japanese university had seemed a plumb job; well-paid, long holidays, able to enjoy the cultural intricacies and peculiarities of Japan, and of course, the chance to indulge his lifelong fascination with being dominated by women. He already had a working knowledge of Japanese language and culture from having lived and worked there in his very first job. He had a small apartment, ten tatami mats big for his lounge, and a six mat room for his bedroom. He was within walking distance of the university and didn’t have a heavy schedule yet.

Nothing seemed to be happening, occasionally she tickled him a little, touched his cock, but none of the stronger torture he had been expecting. Sometimes he felt nothing at all, and wondered where she was and what she was doing. She didn’t speak and he was incapable of asking or saying anything anyway. He then felt something being pushed into his ears – ear-plugs – sensory deprivation – she was going to deny him as much of his ability to detect what was happening around him as he could. Now he had no sight, no speech, and no sound.

With no internet at home in the beginning just after his arrival, he had to use the internet provided by the university in his office. With the computer monitor screen faced away from the door, he could browse websites like collarspace without worrying too much about being suddenly surprised by anyone. He also realized that his hormones were in overdrive with all the attractive women around campus, and his tutorial class was no exception. That was where he met her, in his tutorial, or rather, just became aware that someone in his class knew his secret life of BDSM fantasies.

The minutes passed, he was feeling more and more frustrated. Then a little click sound, perhaps the door opening or closing. Was she going out? He felt rather than heard, feet padding on the floor coming toward him, and then suddenly, a sharp scratch on the side of his body. He jerked, writhing away from the scratch, but another came on the other side of his body and he involuntarily moved back the other way. Waiting! So light that at first he didn’t even feel it, and then building in intensity, he felt her hands lightly touching and tickling his inner thighs and cock, running all over his legs. And with an even greater shock than when he felt the scratch, he felt another pair of hands tickling him on his upper body – she was not alone – there was another person in the room.

Next he felt a weight crushing down on his face, smothering the breath right out of him. He struggled to move so his nose could access air, but it was tightly embedded in her buttock cheeks, and his mouth was blocked anyway. Just when he was getting really desperate, the pressure lifted and he inhaled deeply through his nose. But then, even through the ear-plugs, came the sound of a loud fart, and the deep relieving inhalation he took in, sucked in the smell. Next he felt her sit heavily on his stomach. He guessed this must be Yuko, Aki’s friend whom she had told Mark she had informed about him.

Hands pulled open the pantyhose and the panties covering his cock. One of them, he guessed Aki, began stroking and tickling his cock into erection. And then he felt a ribbon tied tightly around the base of his now swollen cock, around the base of his balls and over the middle, at first gently then slowly pulled tighter. His cock couldn’t subside now even if it wanted to, the ribbon keeping a steady pressure, just like the pressure that had mounted from that first time in the tutorial when he had opened that letter with his name on, left on the lectern next to the computer.

With a sickening realization dawning over him he read the letter to the end – which of his students had written it. He was flustered, trying to get his mind around what he wanted to do in the tutorial, but knowing someone, a student, there, sitting somewhere amongst the 20 or so students, knew his secret. She must be watching him now, observing him discreetly reading her note, enjoying his discomfort. He stomach churned, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he felt his armpits become damp. He had to continue, try and concentrate on what he had to do to get through the lesson.

“Hello Professor Stockingsniffy

You like to be slave. You be my slave now, ok? Do you know who am I?

Thank you photo you in stocking and panty – so sexy. Haha. I am your Tokyo friend in collarspace. Haha. Now we do fun ok? After class you go to girl toilet level 3, first toilet door, close door and see present for you, Ok? In brown packet in corner – you read message in packet.

You not go, I send your photo to whole class. Understand?

Mistress student”

The female toilet on level 3 was a quiet one thank goodness. He guiltily looked up and down the corridor, checking to make sure no-one was around, then quickly entered. First door, close the door. There’s the packet, a brown one, in the corner. He feverishly reached down, picked up the packet, and opened it. Black pantyhose, two pairs, looking used, and panties, three pairs, all white, and very obviously worn, brown yellow stains on the crotch area! An envelope!

“Hello Professor

Good boy! Good dog! You like to smell panty? You smell panty now! Put on your face, on nose, put panty in mouth, lick panty, lick yellow part, ok! Take photo when you do. And send to this whatsapp number. No send, I send your photo last night to whole class. Understand? Good dog!”

When finish that, take off your clothes, put panty and pantyhose on and make hard your cock. I call you – you must answer! Understand?”

Every day after that, he received messages, at all different times, sometimes embarrassing photos of himself were sent, reminding him that she had power over him, held his dignity, indeed his job, in her hands. Sometimes there were tasks she set him, telling him to go to a particular lingerie shop and embarrass himself buying a whole lot of panties and stockings, telling him to go to a particular female toilet at a particular time, go inside and follow the instructions she would leave inside, or to go to a coffee shop and do certain things. Often he would be required to take photos or send proof of his task.

Once in a coffee shop, she ordered him to phone her and switch the volume on loud. A loud fart blasted through, thoroughly embarrassing him in front of surrounding customers. All this while, she never once spoke on the phone or gave him any idea of who she might be. Tutorial classes were agonizingly embarrassing, especially the time when she told him to have his phone with him in class, and dirty messages began popping up. Until finally, one day, in another tutorial, another letter.

“Dear Professor

After class, go to coffee shop near station. Buy coffee and go to upstairs section. Not go, you pictures on internet. Understand?”

Sitting upstairs in the coffee shop, a quiet section with no customers, Mark waited. He had done as instructed, arrived on time. Bzzz – a message – “We here downstairs, you on knees, eye look at floor, HEAD DOWN, NO LOOK. WAIT!”

“We! What did she mean by we?” How many people knew about him? Mark knelt on the floor, put his forehead down on the floor, hoping it would be her and not some stranger that would come upstairs and see a foreigner prostrating himself on the floor. He heard the steps creaking up the wooden stairs. At the doorway, the steps stopped, there was a giggle, a whisper – she definitely wasn’t alone. Footsteps came slowly towards where he was. “Stay there,” someone said, “Don’t move!”

The heel of a shoe came down on the back of his neck, pressing slowly. Someone else walked around to behind him. He felt the toe of a shoe touch his ass, tip pushing into his crack, moving back and forth. He didn’t know how many people there were, but definitely more than three. Someone sat heavily on his back. He felt a soft black cloth, stockings, closing off his sight, being tied tightly around his eyes. Then a stocking it seemed, fitted tightly over his whole face. He heard the click of photos being taken, and beneath his stocking covered face, blushed with embarrassment and wondered who had them and what they would be used for. He felt totally trapped – with girls he did not know at all now having his photos, his phone number, his address, knowing where he worked, a complete abasement.

All the while girls were laughing and talking in Japanese. He understood enough to have a general idea of what they were saying.

“let’s make him smell our stockings and feet. He can smell my panty – so smelly, and wet. Haha!” he felt something being pushed into the stocking covering his face, right up against his nose – damp and sticky. “Open mouth! Aaaahh!” Someone smacked his ass. Opening his mouth it was quickly stuffed with a panty – tasting of sweat. Then another stocking was tied around has face, holding the panty firmly in his mouth. A collar was attached around his neck.

“Come doggie, come doggie!” He was pulled along, blindly following the tugging on his leash. “Doggie, we give you a drink now.” More laughter and then he heard liquid begin dripping, at first a trickle, then what seemed to be a jet of water, hitting a container. It didn’t smell like water, though, and with a shiver along his spine, he realized it was pee.

His thumbs were quickly put together behind his back, securely held with thumbcuffs. He was now kneeling over, body forward, someone sitting on his back, with the warm acid smell of the pee now quite close to his face. “We want you to see doggie.” The stocking was removed from over his head, bubbling yellow pee frothing just below. The panty in his mouth dropped into the bowl of pee. “Take it out doggie!”

All he could see were feet around his head and then his face was submerged, tasting the saltiness, pee splashing, hair becoming wet, struggling to breathe, struggling to lift his head but someone was sitting on it. Just when he began thrashing around in terror at the prospect of drowning in a shallow bowl of pee, the pressure on top of his head lifted and his hair was grasped strongly and jerked back, drops of pee flying. Gasping for breath, he was confronted by three mobile phones held right in front of his face, snapping away, capturing his humiliation and debasement as surely as he was now captured, bound not by ropes or chains, but by fear of his secret being revealed.

“Fetch panty doggie. Now!” His head was thrust down into the bowl again. He opened his mouth, swallowing pee at the same time, grabbed the panty, gripping it firmly with his lips. Once more, his head was brought up, this time a dripping pink panty dangling from his mouth, and more photos were taken. “Now doggie, do you know who I am?” Mark recognized her from his tutorial class, Aki, extremely attractive, always attentive in class. She grinned.

“Hello professor Sniffy!” and snatched the panty out of his mouth.

Mark was then forced into humiliating positions, on his knees, thumb cuffs holding his arms behind his back, foot kissing, bum kissing, and his cock pulled out of his pants, tied, and instructed to rub his cock between Aki's feet like a dog and bring himself to hardness. All the while, the four girls kept taking photos and videos.

The footsteps of someone coming up the creaky stairs and Mark was hurriedly pushed into a soft chair, hands still behind his back, cock pushed back inside his trousers. Sweaty and feeling smelly from the pee on his face, Mark sheepishly looked down when the waitress placed the tea on the table. His thumbs were then uncuffed, and he was given a packet with instructions to go to the toilet and put on the panties and pantyhose in the packet, then come back upstairs. 

He had always had a fetish for wearing panties and pantyhose, especially black ones. As a little boy, he had sometimes dressed in his mother’s clothes when his parents were out, and danced for his sister – but then there had been nothing erotic about it, no feeling of guilt, just a naughty boy having fun. Later, however, after seeing one of his older sister’s friends walk to the bathroom in her ballet leotard and tights, and letting out a loud smelly fart on the way there, his fantasies of fart smell fascination and pantyhose had begun forming.

When the whole family was out, he would sneak into his sister’s bedroom, open the lingerie drawer and remove one of the many black pantyhose and ballet leotards that she had. In the bathroom, door locked even though no one was in the house, he would feverishly put them on, feeling the silky smoothness on his thighs, and the tightness of the leotard pressing down against his swelling erection. He would stroke himself, tissues around his cock so no telltale fluids would stain the clothes, rubbing his cock against a pillow, or lightly caressing it with his fingers.

10/2/2015 2:15:20 AM
The Marriage Ceremony

"Do you, dog, undertake to behave in ways befitting a dog, giving loyalty, obedience and your tongue, to your Mistress?"


"Do you agree to be used as a pony, a dog, a sub, a slave, a maid, a butler, a masseuse and other roles as agreed upon with your Mistress? Just nod your head!"

"Do you Mistress .........., take this dog to be your slave? To abuse and to torture as you see fit, to collar and to lead on a leash, to humiliate and to harness as a horse, to kiss your feet and use his tongue in ways directed? ....

You may now kick the dog." Dog! You may now kiss your Mistress' feet. I now pronounce you, Mistress and slave."

12/16/2014 5:03:58 PM
We chatted online for a few months but never saw each other, just chatted. Her fantasy was to have a coffee table, and eventually we planned such an evening, and for extra spice, decided that neither of us would see the others' face the entire time.

I opened the gate. The garden was small and dark and the path to the front door short. Panting as I had run much of the way to get there before she said she would lock the door, I had no time to think, just had to gently push the door, left slightly ajar for my arrival. I stepped into a narrow entrance way, a curtain hiding what lay beyond. Just as we had arranged, there was an envelope with a note for me, instructions, telling me to strip, put on a black nightie, a blindfold and gas mask, and then to kneel facing the door and exterior. I did as instructed, heart pounding, waited.
Behind my back, I heard steps, the curtain being prised open. The steps retreated then came back and then I felt a collar swiftly put around my neck, a leash attached and I was pulled along, able to hazily see the carpet beneath my ‘paws.’ I was settled in the middle of the lounge. I could hear the TV. Every now and again she would comment about ‘her table’. I was determined to be as good a table as I could, and imagined my hands like the wooden claws holding balls, flat at the bottom, of the sturdy wooden coffee table in my childhood home.
Her boots settled heavily on my back and I enjoyed the weight. Sometimes her boots lay there, sometimes drinks and a plate with snacks I think. Occasionally, she commented on the strange ‘appendage’ that appeared attached to the underside of her new table, and even gave it a little prod. I stood and stood in that position, and wondered how the evening was going to progress. Eventually she got up, sat astride my back, and I felt her full weight heavy on the small of my back. She emitted a moan as she ground down hard with her womanhood. I did so enjoy that moment.
Eventually, she turned her table over, manacling the ankles and wrists. I still attempted to remain table-like and upright from my inverted position, even as she ripped her pantyhose and rubbed her womanhood with some force over my mouth. All good things come to an end, however, and she ordered me to leave. I changed in the privacy of the entrance-way, and then in something of a daze, made my way to the station, a long walk, recounting the hurried arrival and streets I had passed in such a rush just two hours earlier. I wondered if people on the train would be able to smell the womanly aroma that I felt must linger on my lips, a feeling of guilt and worry that always seems to accompany me after any such encounter.

12/19/2010 5:06:49 PM

A View of Stockinged Toes on the Train


Waiting on the station platform, I saw a beautiful Chinese woman, a little older than her twenties, dressed in a short black dress with black stockings, my favourite fetish. As the train pulled in, I decided to get in the same carriage as her and see if I could sit nearby. She went upstairs in the carriage and sat down on the first row of seats. The good viewing seats were taken so I just sat in the seat behind her, hoping for any view of her stockinged legs. 

To my delight, she immediately took her black heels off and put her feet up on the seat in front of her, giving me a good view of her toes and foot. She had reddish toenail polish on, another kink of mine, visible through her black stockings. I watched as her toes curled and foot twitched, captivated by this masturbation worthy image. 

I then listened as she answered her mobile phone, hoping to hear that she was  a travelling dominatrix visiting a slave. The talk, though, was of a mundane appointment and times regarding a lunch she was obviously going to. Now and again, she covered her feet with her newspaper, obscuring my view, but then her foot would be revealed again. I didn't stare all the time. I am always conscious of being caught out staring. I read my book, looking up every now and again, and was especially careful when she took out her make-up mirror and began looking at her face. Perhaps she would see me looking, or maybe already knew I was perving and was trying to catch me in the act. I secretly hoped this would be the case, as she would then have a reason to boss me around. 

In my fantasy, I get off the train after her, folowing her at a reasonable distance to avoid detection. She disappears around a corner and I hurry so as not to lose sight of her. Coming round the corner, I almost bump right into her. "You've been following me, haven't you?", she says. Stunned like a fish gasping for oxygen, no sound comes out, then I squeak, "Yes, I have." "Hmmm, and I saw you watching my feet, you little pervert!" she says. "Kiss them!" she commands. I look around, fearful that other people will see this conversation. "Now!" she says.

6/27/2010 1:30:24 AM

It's hard to separate humiliation from one's own fantasy or dislikes. Humiliation by definition might be what makes you most embarrassed, which could be things you really don't like doing at all. I will restrict my discussion of humiliation to what I enjoy or fantasise about, while still being embarrassing. Those things I don't enjoy but which would nonetheless be humiliating, I won't discuss.
From personal experience, humiliating things have been doing things close to the edge, in public but still hidden. I once had to wear a collar under my shirt when I went to meet a mistress. I had to wear sports shorts with no underwear. We went to a karaoke room, where she and a friend made me undress, naked, for inspection, all the time fearful that someone might come in. Then, clothed, I had to sit at her feet, kiss them and have her put them on my head. 

For me, then, humiliation seems connected to being seen by others, or having the possibility of being seen.

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